Jonathon's Rebirth
by aspentree11
Summary: COFH SPOILERS. What if Jonathon had survived? What if Sebastian died, and Jonathon still lived? Just read it, if you could.
1. Prologue

_**This is a story about what would happen if Clary had saved Jonathon after all. **_

_He was burning. Why was he burning?_

Despite the fact that there was visions flashing in front of him, memories that seemed vivid and familiar yet not real at all, he was lost in this brave new world. It was as if, for the first time, he had woken up. And then, just as he was about to raise his head, everything stopped. The flames, like frightened beings, evaporated the moment he had finally taken in the scene. He laid on wherever he was, forgetting - if he had ever known in the first place - how to move. He realized he was breathing.

He could _feel _himself breathing.

_I've never been able to feel that before_, he thought to himself. He always felt distant from his body. As he glanced around, the objects and beings around him seemed unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time. Something told him, as if words at the tip of his tongue, he knew them. He knew them well. Yet he didn't ever feel this alive, so how could he know them? How could he?

He wanted to cry for help. Make a noise. Do something. Because he felt like he could. Like he could _breathe. _But then a figure, thin yet lively, dove next to him. Her legs gave out. He knew her. He knew her well. Then it came to him. He understood now.

"You," he whispered, looking at her with feared admiration. Did she see him? Did she know he could feel that he was breathing? But when she looked at him, he no longer wondered. He knew that she saw him. He realized suddenly that maybe everything wasn't a dream. He had flashes of her, memories, and he felt like he distantly knew her, despite the fact that they have never met. Her eyes dawned on him worriedly, hint of regret swirling in her eyes."You put...the heavenly fire...into the blade of the sword. It was...cleverly done." Despite the shaking, he felt the words on his tongue. He _felt _it. He had never felt anything like it. He felt like he was truly there.

"It was a rune, that's all," she told him, kneeling over him, her eyes wandering against him as if she was just as intrigued by his sudden consciousness as him. "Sebastian..."

Suddenly, a memory of Sebastian. Hitting hard like ice. Like everything else until now, until he could _feel, _the memory was as if he watching at a distance. Never feeling. A hatred.

"No. I'm not him. I'm-Jonathon," he tried to say loudly, aching to tell the world, but he knew it only came out as a whisper. "I'm Jonathon." He heard someone scream behind him, a terrible noise calling out to him, as if trying to bring him to his past state. Screaming _his, _the demon inside of him who stopped him from feeling, name.

"Kill the girl!" Suddenly, his eyes hit the woman - no, it was a girl - who hovered over him. _Clary, _a voice had answered. As if on cue, memories of her started to hit him. A million of them, colliding into his head. He wanted to scream, the amount of memories hitting him becoming maddening. But when his eyes stayed on Clary, his sister, he regained sanity.

"NO!" A wild fire hit his chest, but this time it was of emotion. "Get back!" He heard the shuffling feet, the Endarkened, cease. There was a breath exhaled beside him. It was his sister. She was breathing too.

But his mind, as he thought of her breathing, was interrupted. Clinging rang against his ears. Someone, he realized, was running towards them.

"I will not let him die!" Her voice rang in his eyes. He wanted to sooth her. "I've seen too many go to waste today! Too many souls! Magnus, _look at me! _Don't tell me there isn't a spell that can't save him." Only a moment later, a new figure hovered over him. The figure held an hour-glass shape, an older energy beaming off it. He squinted his eyes, until he could decipher the figure. Red hair, bright eyes, but older. Like a mother.

"Mother?" Jonathon said. The longer his eyes held onto her, the more he felt like he couldn't see her vividly. A gurgle hit his chest, and when he coughed a thick goo splattered out of his mouth. He could barely breathe.

He watched as his mother knelt down next to him, at first cautiously, but then slowly drew his head into her lap. Despite everything he had done - what _Sebastian _had made him done, and forced him to watch - she still had the strength to love him.

"I am sorry," he said, his eyes burning with tears, "I am so..." His eyes hit his sister again, feeling her gaze. "I know there is nothing I could do or say now that would allow me to die with even a shred of grace. And I would hardly blame you if you cut my throat. But I am...I regret. I'm...sorry." Her eyes widened, like the words had forced her eyes to enlarge in order to understand them. At first he saw the anger swirl in her eyes, but then it went away. A soft, comforting gleam replaced them. And he was sure she was wondering how and why and trying to understand, for the first time, what kind of God would let a soul be so corrupted.

"Don't," he said, his eyelids feeling heavier. "I see you trying to puzzle it out, my sister. Whether I ought to be forgiven the way Luke would forgive his sister if the Infernal Cup released her now. But you see, she was his sister once. She was human once I-" A monstrous cough interrupted him. He cursed his body. Would it be on his side for at least a moment? "I never existed at all. Heavenly fire burns away that which is evil. Jace survived Glorious because he was good. There was enough of him left to live. But I was born to be all corruption. There is not enough left of me to survive. You see the ghost of someone who could have been, that is all." He heard sniffling beside him, as his mother's fingers clutched his head harder, as if she was feeling him fall away from her all over again.

"I must tell you," he coughed. "When I die-the Endarkened will rush at you. I won't be able to hold them back. Where's Jace?"

"I'm here," he heard him say. He felt Jace's steps vibrate against the floor.

"Take my sword," Jonathon continued. "Cut-cut it open?" Jocelyn murmured something in confusion.

"What is he doing?" Clary demanded louder. But when Jace obeyed his request, Jonathon could tell the entire room had finally breathed. Like they were drowning in their own fears until Jace had done the deed.

"T-tell him," Jonathon stuttered, "Tell him to throw it into the ring of runes." Clary recited it to Jace, and he heard someone shift towards him.

"No!" She cried, and it was Amatis. "If the Cup is ruined, so shall we all be! Lord Sebastian! Do not let your army be destroyed! We are loyal!" He looked at Jocelyn, remembering something she had once said to him.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I should never have made you." His eyes started to go dark, he felt his body be released. He felt distance for a moment, like he was being pulled away finally, but by a being of light. Then, suddenly, he heard the scream. The voice made him jump back into his body.

"NO!" Screamed Clary. Jonathon didn't have the strength to open his eyes, he could only hear them.

"Clary, there is nothing-"  
"I've seen too many innocent people die today because of Sebastian!" She snarled. "I will not let my brother die before he has a chance to live!" It was he was hearing her from a million miles away, but he still heard her. Only as a whisper.

"There's nothing you can do," a voice countered, "He's probably already dead. No rune can save him. No magic can heal him. And even if there was Clary Fray, I don't have the strength." But then he felt a sense of warmth. Someone was touching his body.

"His pulse," his sister said, "It's low. But - he has a Stele!" His body jolted, and he felt closer again. Something was pulling him back. Love? A voice? A purpose?

"Clary," a soft voice interrupted, "No rune can save him-"

"No rune that we know of can save him," she argued harshly, "He isn't just another shadowhunter. We share blood, Jace. There is a separate connection." At first there was a rattle, and he could hear sizzling. As if someone was using the Stele upon themself, creating Marks on their own body.

Suddenly, there was a pain. A pain, worse than anything he could ever feel. It burned through him, capturing him, making him scream. He was being pulled back, he could feel his consciousness start to come back to the surface. But the pain was horrible. Like fire was burning through him. No, something stronger than fire. Something stronger than anything fire could ever do.

But suddenly his eyes opened. Weak, but alive.

"You saved me," he whispered.

Okay, so the first chapter ALWAYS sucks. Plus, I'm basing the first chapter off the actual book so there isn't much I can change.

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW I don't update without reviews because I can't tell if people are actually reading it or not.


	2. Chapter One

_"The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future."__  
__-Oscar Wilde_

183. That was how many times he had stayed at this coffee shop, at exactly four o'clock, praying for her to show up. 183 times, he had arrived at this coffee shop, ordered a small vanilla latte, and not touch it. 183 times, had he prayed that somebody would be waiting for him, yet left by himself.

"One hundred and eighty three," he whispered to himself, glancing at his watch. _4:56_. He closed his green eyes, leaning his head back with a sigh. He didn't expect her to show up, but the slight hope that she would was what kept him alive. Clary, who he begged every morning to tell his mother that he'd be at the local coffee shop at four o'clock, told him it would take time, but even as Clary said it, he saw the fear in her eyes as well.

Despite the fact that The Clave managed to grant him mercy (probably only because Clary, the hero, requested it as a reward), nobody wanted anything to do with him. Being shunned, he realized almost immediately, was just as bad as being banished, if not worse. The only person who even bothered to communicate with him was his sister, and that was only because he would wait in front of her house at exactly 8:02 a.m., when she left to the Institute, and beg her to ask their mother to meet with him. Clary would stare at the ground, mumble an _Okay, I'll try_ under her breath, and brush past him hurriedly. He never followed her, and he never rang the doorbell to talk to his mother personally. He would just pray to whoever God that would take him to get her to come.

"Whatever," he muttered under his breath. He opened his wallet, a ragged second-hand thing he had picked off from the New York streets on a busy day, pulled out two dollars and tossed it onto the table. If anything, maybe tipping the waitress would make him a better person.

He scooted out of his chair roughly, not looking ahead of him as he got up from the table. _Maybe I should just ring the doorbell. Maybe she would open the door before Luke can rip me apart. Maybe I should let him. _Just as the suicidal thought rang in his head, his chest collided with a something in front of him. He tripped back, feeling hot liquid splatter on his shirt. He glanced down at his shirt for only a second - _damn, the only shirt he had that hadn't been stained, was stained now. _

"I'm so sorry," he sputtered immediately, before even looking up, "Entirely my fault. Let me buy you a new o-" But when he looked in front of him, his words stopped. A girl, thin and probably a little younger than him, blinked at him. He in habit, looked at her quickly, analyzing her. _Thin body, she's fast but not strong. Her hair touches the end of her back, so she wouldn't be good in hand-to-hand combat unless it was in a bun. And by the tattoos on her shoulders and forearms, she's a shadowhunter. _

His heart skidded a beat as the words echoed back in his head. _She's a shadowhunter. _

He stuttered for a second, incapable of speaking as his eyes lingered on her tattoos. She too stared at him in awe, blinking. He, instinctively, attempted to pull the cuffs of his sleeves in order to hide his own marks, in hope that she wouldn't recognize him, but the shirt barely fit him already.

"Jonathon Morgernstern," she exhaled. He felt his face flush, tipping back. He could feel his heart beat in his chest loudly, mocking him.

"I'm sorry," he said again, but for an entirely different reason, "Here's some money. Whatever you had, whatever you need, just take it." He tossed a few dollars at her, not caring how much it was. Quickly, he brushed past her, knowing that eyes were still on at him because of the accidental collision, and he raced out of the coffee shop. Tears blurred his eyes as he rushed around the people on the street, hoping to get away as soon as possible. Hoping to get her wide, brown eyes out of his mind. But when he realized he was far from the coffee shop, probably streets away, he shifted his run to a slow walking pace. His lungs, tight and tired, burned.

Since he was resurrected, his powers were nothing compared to what they once were. He guessed that it was because he no longer had any demon in him, and the demon was what made him powerful, but still - he had never been limited in his abilities. It was still unusual to him to feel soreness hit him and feel burning in his lungs. It was the only thing he missed. In the beginning, he blamed himself for his limited abilities. He believed that maybe the Institute would take him in if he asked, but when he accepted that it wasn't because of his diminished abilities, it was about his actions that he couldn't forgive, he stopped wondering. Anyways, he wasn't sure if he had the nerve to walk up the Institute's steps after what he had done to them. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed, but that it was implied they would never accept him as an official shadowhunter.

"Wait!" A voice shouted. He heard it, but he didn't turn. He wondered who that voice was waiting for, hearing the urgency in the individual's tone. He wondered if that voice loved the person they were calling for. If _they _would have bothered to meet their target at the coffee shop.

"_Jonathon Morgernstern_!" He stopped strolling and tossed his head back. He shoulders arched back. It was the girl. Her hair, blonde, shined brightly under the sun. Like rays of heavenly fire. Jonathon shuddered as he watched her body race after him. For a moment, it was like he was watching in a birds-point-of-view. Until she was in front of him.

Though every cell in his body told him to move, reminded him that he was weaponless while she, based upon her belt, had many, he didn't move at all. He almost closed his eyes, waiting for the impact, but her hands never went to it. Instead, she continued to look at him, her brown eyes urgent and rapid.

"Th-thats you, right?" She asked, trying to hide the shaking in her voice. "Jonathon Morgenstern?" He raised his hands up, eyeing the mound of teenagers heading towards them. They didn't look much younger than him, yet he feared what they may see.

"Please," he said, under his breath, "If you're here to kill me, at least don't let them witness it. They're innocent. They shouldn't have to see me murdered." She flashed a confused look, before glancing towards the crowd he was signaling to. She looked at them with mild interest, then scrunched her eyebrows together.

"What are you, some suicidal wreck?" She asked coolly. _Well, I guess you can put it like that, _he almost replied.

"I wouldn't blame you," he mumbled, "You obviously know me." But she didn't show a sign of a need of revenge.

"Look," she said, her eyes dashing around her awkwardly, "I know you're probably having an existential moment because people hate you, but if you could help me out here and-"

"EMMA!" A voice roared. Winding through a crowd, a boy who was at least half a foot taller than her was yelling urgently. Jonathon eyed his tattoos, far more than Emma's, respectively. He didn't look older than her, yet he couldn't imagine how far he had come for someone so young.

"Jonathon Morgenstern! I hoped I'd run into you some day!" The boy said, skidding to a stop. He had a weapon out already, his teeth clenched and hatred swirling in his eyes, but when he noticed the girl next to him was abnormally peaceful, he faltered. "What are you doing Emma? Don't you know who this is?"

"Jonathon Morgenstern?" She replied mildly. "Formally known as Sebastian before the evil was ripped out of him. I found him in a coffee shop, if you're curious. I saw him through the window. Despite what people say, he's not that hard to find." Her friend's eyes narrowed at him, obviously not hearing a thing she said.

"I will have fun killing you," he hissed. Surprisingly, nobody was looking towards them. Jonathon guessed that it was probably glamour, but he didn't know. Emma put her palm up, pushing her friend back.

"Calm down," she snarled at him, "He's...he's different now. The Clave showed him mercy, remember?" Her friend's lips curled back in disgust. Jonathon could tell there was a thousand things he wanted to say, horrible things, but he responded more calmly than Jonathon predicted.

"Different?" He mocked. "He's roaming the New York streets alone. Nobody wants him. Nobody really knows if he's different, Em." Jonathon flinched. Despite it being true, it still hurt.

"Do you really hate him more than you want to get into the Institute?" she asked him softly. This time, it was her friend that flinched. Something awakened in Jonathon, making him step closer, feeling alive just by hearing the word.

"The Institute?" Jonathon asked immediately. "Why do you need the Institute? Is there something wrong? Is there-" But by the glare the boy was giving him, he doubted he would reply with honesty. But the girl, her arms folding against her chest and tilted her head in curiosity, answered.

"No, we just need to get to the Institute," she said sharply. Her friend sniffed the air, as if wanting to say something but stopping himself.

"Don't you..." Jonathon said aloud, his voice harsher than he intended, "Know where it is? I mean, shouldn't you know? You guys are obviously shadowhunters." The boy gripped Emma harshly.

"If you won't let me kill him," the boy said angrily, "At least let me walk away!" Her eyes started to blaze angrily.

"We've been walking for five hours," she reminded her friend, "There's nobody to tell us. He-" she stopped speaking for a second, as if about to say something she would regret, "He's a shadowhunter in New York. He can lead us there." She looked at Jonathon sharper now, the curiosity no longer existing. Apparently, needing the Institute was more important than shunning him.

"I can," he said, "It's on-"

"You have to show us if you want to tell us," her friend grumbled, glaring at the ground, "Because of _you and your stupid war _everything has been heightened with glamour. The instructions will just go inside our brains and fall out. You have to have someone show you to get in." Jonathon, for a moment, could only blink in return. He guessed that the only reason he didn't know about this new act was because nobody wanted to include him, but Jonathon knew for a fact it hadn't moved. Occasionally he'll pass by, deep in the night, wondering what it would be like to live there. But he never went closer than the steps that led to the door. He felt hurt though that his sister hadn't even bothered to tell him.

"Okay," Jonathon decided uneasily, "I'll take you." Emma flashed a smile, and Jonathon could only wonder how. Surely, she had someone who died because of him. Someone she loved. But maybe she was forgiving, he thought. Maybe it was the only way she found closure. Maybe, like him, she knew what it was like for The Clave to hate you.

Emma's friend was still arguing with Emma fifteen minutes into the walk. Jonathon walked ahead of them, pretending not to hear their whispers.

"I bet this is against the law, y'know," her friend hissed, "I'm sure that there's some unimplied rule that he should be killed by someone and here we are _encouraging _his life."

"Yeah? Well, you know what else is against the law?" Emma replied sourly. "What we've been doing for the last three days!" Jonathon stumbled when he heard it, accidentally tripping on a concrete crack.

"Keep on walking, demon," Emma's friend snarled. Emma started swearing at him, but Jonathon obeyed. He would keep moving.

"So how old are you guys anyways?" Jonathon asked, interrupting their quarrel. He minimized his pace so that he could look at them. Despite the fact that they looked strong, they still looked young. Too young to be wandering so lost.

"Old enough," Emma had replied, just as her friend said, "None of your business, murderer."

"Fine," Jonathon said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Can I ask why you need the Institute?"

"No!" They both said firmly, together. Jonathon's eyebrows furrowed. He looked at them harder. Blonde hair with brown eyes, black hair with green and blue eyes. Despite the fact that they didn't look like each other at all, they held the same energy. They walked with the same step. They both eyed their surroundings cautiously, and they both held the same stubborn attitude.

"Are you guys siblings?" Jonathon asked, in a low voice. For a while, he couldn't say the word _siblings. _It brought him too much pain. But somehow, after a few weeks, he had overcome it.

"No," Emma answered defensively. "We're parabatai." Jonathon blinked.

"Oh," he had said at first, eyeing the both harder now, "How interesting..." Emma's friend opened his mouth, as if to take his observation as an insult, but Emma spoke first.

"Jules and I were raised together," she explained, "Practically from birth." Jonathon nodded.

"Makes sense," Jonathon said simply.

"Yeah, well-" But then Emma's voice stopped. The Institute, large and eye-opening, lingered in front of them. Even Jonathon stopped for a moment, admiring it's ancient beauty.

"Well," the boy, Jules, said, "That's fancy." The girl elbowed him, but Jonathon thought it was playfully.

"Just be careful as you're walking," Jonathon said to them cautiously, "It is an Institute, everything is a trap." Or at least that was what it always was for Jonathon. Whenever it was time to invade an Institute, it was never not annoying.

Jonathon decided to walk with them upon the steps. Maybe it was because he had an excuse, maybe it was because he wanted them to get there safely, but when they got to the door, everybody stopped. He moved back, nodding at them.

"Tell them-" But he stopped. "Don't tell them how you got here." He turned his back on them.

"Hey!" Jules snarled. "Aren't you going to open it for us?" Jonathon turned slowly, and blinked.

"What do you mean?"Jonathon asked.

"Open it," Jules said slowly, "We obviously can't touch it. We aren't apart of the Institute. New security, remember? You have to be a part of the Institute to get in." Jonathon's mouth opened, for a second incapable of speaking.

"I am not a part of the Institute," he told them honestly, "I can't get in, if what you say about the extra glamour is correct." Jules rolled his eyes, but Emma shook her head calmly.

"If you can lead us here, and if are still counted as a shadowhunter living in the New York area," Emma said calmly, "Then you can open this door." Jonathon shook his head.

"I promise you-"

"Please," Emma said, her voice soft and pleading, "Please open it, Jonathon. _Please._" It was the way that the girl said it. Like for the first time, someone saw him as someone they needed. Someone they counted on. Or at least, someone human enough that they could trust. Jonathon turned towards them again.

"I'll try, then," Jonathon agreed. He went up to the door.

"I-I," Jonathon said, "Look, I don't think I can-"

"Just try," Emma whispered, "Please, open it for us." His hand shaking, Jonathon put his pale hand to the door. He didn't remember saying the words, requesting it for the angel, but he heard his heart drumming. What would he say to the girl when it didn't open? Would it prove to them that he was a monster.

But then, as if ghostly, the door started to move. It swung open, and Jonathon sucked in a breath.

"No way," he breathed.


	3. Chapter Two

Behind him, the two young shadowhunters didn't seem surprised, but a nervous tingle shivered down Jonathon's body_. I just opened the Institute_, Jonathon thought to himself. _I'm still counted as a shadowhunter._Not that he ever thought he wasn't a shadowhunter, he just never believed that The Clave still classified him as a shadowhunter. It didn't really occur to Jonathon to stop lingering past the entry way until a figure started to walk towards them. As the figure came close enough to him, Jonathon analyzed him. _Gangly, tall, thin, dark messy hair, crooked glasses. Poor balance, stiff arms. He's new. He's wearing dark skinny jeans and a regular Van Zepplin shirt. _

The boy, about the same height as Jonathon himself, stopped a foot in front of him.

"Who are you?" He asked, but his voice wasn't cold. He was genuinely curious. Jonathon blinked. The boy was familiar, yes, but Jonathon had never bothered to remember his name. Most names, Jonathon had realized, from when Sebastian was ruling his body had left his long term memory.

"Jonathon," Jonathon answered simply. The boy crossed his arms, nodding as if he accepted the answer.

"I know a lot of Jonathons," the boy replied, rubbing his chin. Jonathon nodded as well.

"Well, you've definitely heard of me," Jonathon muttered dryly. He had remembered, when he was still at court, having to listen to this boy's trial. Vaguely, he recalled the issue: the boy lost his memory to get them out of Edem. But the more Jonathon scrunched his eyebrows down, he kept thinking that the Clave had decided not to pursue this issue because he wasn't a shadowhunter. So why was he here?

"Aren't you a daylighter?" Jonathon blurted. "Shouldn't you not be in here?" The positive look on the daylighter's face vanished. Instead, a dark look replaced it, snarling.

"Dangit! Why does everyone who knows me always say that?" he bursted defensively. "I'm a shadowhunter now-"

"Simon, where the hell are you?" A voice yelled. "I'm trying to teach you how to throw a freaking dagger and you leave! Don't you want to know how to do these-" But then the new figure, at a distance, stopped.

"Jonathon Morgenstern," the figure breathed. But Simon was in his own little world.

"I don't know," Simon answered sourly, "I'm starting to think making sandwiches for you guys was better than this training." But the figure ignored him. Instead, the figure walked fast towards the doorway. As the figure grew closer, Jonathon realized it was a woman. A tall, curvy woman with dark hair. He guessed that many thought she was attractive. But when she grew closer, her face tried hard not to reflect a look of disgust, but failed.

"What are you doing here?" She hissed. Jonathon fidgeted. He could tell she wanted to be nice, because clearly she knew that Sebastian no longer existed, but something stopped her from putting her guard down. Obviously, she cared more about the Institute and the safety of her friends than she cared about what the Clave declared mercy for. He respected her for that.

"To bring us here!" A young voice answered behind him. The girl, Izzy, he remembered people calling her, perked her head over Jonathon's shoulder. She inched in front of Simon slyly. Jonathon always thought it was interesting how people defends the people they love without any liable reason why.

"I remember them," Izzy said, louder. "Why do you have them? They're supposed to be in Los Angeles!" Jonathon glanced at her hand, which was on top of the horrifying whip that was tied to her waist. He wondered if she even thought about it anymore, or if it was just instinct to put her hand over her whip when she saw him.

"They were in New York," Jonathon answered honestly. "They needed to figure out where you guys were. Apparently, because of the war, the glamour and security rules have been made tighter. They needed a shadowhunter from New York to open the Institute and walk them to it." Her eyes darkened coolly.

"Don't you have Clary's number?" She hissed. "We could've picked them up." Jonathon blinked. He was sure he had Clary's number, he had even memorized it, but he wasn't really a phone person. He decided that if he needed to find someone, he would find them.

"I guess I just didn't...think about it," he told her, rubbing his neck in agitation. "Sorry, I know this may be the wrong time, but do you know where Clary-"

"She's busy," Izzy snapped.

"Oh la, la," a new voice, from deeper inside the institute sang. "I thought you had the wits to leave. Maybe go to Paris, Germany, London. I would suggest Peru, but they don't really like me." A tall, towering figure hovered over Izzy, his hair spikey like a porcupine, and eyes that glittered different colors. _Warlock. _

"No. Look, I was just here to-"

"You can leave, then," Izzy spat. "Leave the kids here. They shouldn't even be out of Los Angeles." At first Jonathon pursed his lips, words at the tip of his tongue, but then he nodded curtly.

"Fine," he muttered coldly. He shoved by Emma, and though Emma cried for him, he didn't turn.

"IZZY!" A voice shouted. "Who is that?" Jonathon couldn't help but turn his head back towards the door.

"Jonathon," Izzy replied. "Jonathon Morgenstern." Jonathon's head whipped back. Another shadowhunter - _Alex? Alaric? No, Alec. It was Alec. _Alec's pupil's grew at least three times the size it was before.

"Wait," Simon interrupted. "Which Jonathon is this?" Izzy whipped her head towards him.

"The Jonathon that caused your lack of memories," she snapped. His eyes widened.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" He shouted, but nobody acknowledged him. He wavered his hands, but even as a shadowhunter he was invisible to them.

"Why?" Alec asked Jonathon, carefully. "It's been months since you were...released, and now we find you on our doorstep?" Alec wasn't being harsh or defensive or putting assumptions out. He was being realistic. He was doing what he had to do. Jonathon knew that he acknowledged the chance of Jonathon being good again, but also acknowledged the chance that he wasn't as good as The Clave believed.

"Us," Emma repeated impatiently. "He brought us here. We had to leave the Los Angeles Institute. It wasn't..." she looked at her friend for a second. "Doing well for us." Izzy stepped forward, taking Emma's hand.

"Come on, follow me. We'll find you-"

"WAIT!" Alec barked. Izzy froze, glaring at him.

"They're just a couple of kids, Alec. What do you want me to do? Give them a freaking background check-"

"They can't come in," Alec said, his eyes still glued on Jonathon. "Not unless we let Jonathon in." Everybody turned towards Jonathon again. Izzy was glaring, Emma was smiling, Magnus was smirking, Jules was furious, Simon was horrified, but Alec kept an emotionless face. _How wonderful._

"Why?" Izzy asked, her voice soft. Alec turned towards her, his face turning red.

"Did you not read the new Codex at all?" Alex snarled, but nobody answered. "New rules, Izzy! Someone must escort another shadowhunter to an Institute they aren't apart of in order to get in. But the escort must also stay with them. So that someone can be held liable if the visitor goes nuts." Izzy put her hands on her hips.

"Don't look at me like that, Alec," she snapped. "I'm sure nobody else in this Institute ever read that stupid thing anyways. What do you expect me to do now?"

"Let him in," Emma interrupted. "So that _we_ can go in!" Silence barred for a second, as everybody looked at Jonathon suspiciously.

"Jace will hate us," Alec muttered. Izzy rolled her eyes anyways.

"Jace always hates us nowadays," Izzy countered. Alec rolled his eyes.

"We're letting him in?" Simon spat with wide eyes. "Izzy-"

"We'll vote on it," Magnus suggested. "But can we please do it inside? The humidity is killing my hair today."

"Fine," Alec growled. "Everybody, get in. Before anybody else shows up on our doorstep."

Jonathon had never felt so awkward in his life. As he followed the shadowhunters, and kept close to Emma and Jules, he didn't make a sound. His eyes wandered across all of the walls, trying to stop himself from gaping. He had seen the Institute before, but now he had time to finally admire it. His memories of it was a complete blur, since it was Sebastian taking over his body. But now he could see what could have been.

"Come on," Alec said. "Let's just go into the dining room." As Izzy walked in front of him, her hands clasped around Simon's tightly. It didn't seem like a sign of affection, he thought, but an act of defense. Despite the fact that girl seemed way too good for him, and the boy seemed obviously under qualified to be here, she cared for him. She wanted to protect him.

When they found themselves in the dining room, they all seemed to fall in automatically: Magnus sat next to Alec, Simon sat next to Izzy, Jules sat next to Emma across from the rest of them, and for a good second Jonathon didn't know where to sit. It was a long table, probably able to fit fifteen people, and everybody had decided to sprawl out in the middle. There was no corner, no end of the table he could sit in without it being obvious that he didn't want to be next to them. So, he decided to take the chair next to Emma. Jules snorted in disgust, but Jonathon didn't notice.

"I don't really see the debate here," Izzy grumbled as she played with the many rings that occupied her fingers. Alec glanced at Jonathon quickly.

"It's not necessarily the fact of safety Izzy," Alec worded carefully. "It's about the fact that we don't know if he's truly a shadowhunter. If the Clave would approve of him being here." Whether it was truth or not, Jonathon dismissed it. Fear, he knew, filled the room beaming off everybody. What the Clave wanted wasn't what was going to guide their decision.

"They are children," Izzy snarled. "We can't just send them off elsewhere because of a boy." Jonathon's eyes flickered at her codly. He was not just a boy.

"Maybe it would help to explain _why _you are here," Alec said. "We can't just let you stay. You have to tell us." Emma bit her lip.

"It's really a long stor-"

"Do we have visitors?" A voice rang. Jonathon was still as stone as most of the people at the table, jumped in their chairs. Jonathon took a breath, closing his eyes.

A moment later, Jace was at the doorway. His hair was soaked, wearing only sweatpants. When he walked into the entryway of the dining room, he froze. His jaw clenched, while his fingers molded into balls.

"What's wrong-" It was when Clary walked in after him that made Jonathon sit up straighter. His hands were wet as he ran them against his dirty pants. But when he looked at her, he didn't see hatred. He saw something, but it wasn't hatred. Jace, on the otherhand, stepped back in front of Clary, grabbing her hand.

"What is _he _doing here?" Jace snarled. Clary ripped away harshly, and walked towards the table.

"Jonathon?" she said aloud. Jonathon gave her a small smile.

"Hi," he said shortly, unsure what to say. "How are you today?"

"Fine, until you walked in," Jace answered for her. Alec groaned, closing his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose tightly.

"Jace, could you sit down?"

"For what?" Jace asked. "He's not even a shadowhunter anymore!" Clary's large green eyes looked at him deeply, seeing something the rest hadn't seen immediately.

"Yes he is," she argued lightly. "He opened the door, didn't he?" Everybody was quiet. Jace ran his fingers through his hair messily.

"Yes," Jonathon said, clearing his throat. "I did. I had to deliver these children." Clary and Jace's eyes swept towards the kids next to him, noticing them for the first time. A small smile curled on Clary's lips.

"Oh, it's so nice to see you! Why are you here? And why is he-_Oh," _Clary said, tilting her head. "You brought them here, so you have to stay here."

"Finally!" Alec bursted, throwing his hands in the air. "Someone read the Codex!" She shrugged.

"I glanced over it," she admitted. "I wouldn't say that I read it though." Izzy, as Alec's face drained hopelessly, smirked.

"Right now we're arguing about whether Jonathon's right to the Institute is something we should hold to," Simon informed Clary as she glanced towards Simon instinctively.

"Well of course," she said. "He's a shadowhunter. Let him stay." A warmth hit Jonathon's chest.

"Clary! We don't really know if he's good or not!" Jace snarled.

"Well, now you guys see the point of the meeting," Alec said. "Since Mom and Dad aren't here, this is what we're doing. Debating."

"We're creating a democracy," Magnus informed them, though there was a sour tone in his words. Jonathon couldn't tell if anybody realized Magnus was mocking them. Jace, harshly, sat down in the chair next to Alec, and Clary sat next to him. Jace stared at him coolly.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jace growled. Izzy threw her hands up.

"Okay, we can't just let the kids roam New York!" Izzy bursted. "You can't just do that!"

"Sure we can," Jace spat. "Let's just send them back." But Clary's eyes were staring at Emma tightly.

"No," Clary said. "These kids - Jace, you saw these kids. They wouldn't just leave. They're fighters. They need to be here. Something happened." Emma exhaled under her breath.

"We don't know if he's good," Jace reminded them. "It's just the Clave making assumptions. We can't have someone who tried taking over the world in our Institute." Alec glanced at him, his eyes firey.

"Don't insult the Clave," Alec said defensively. "They try their best."

"Oh yes," Magnus said, with great sarcasm in his voice. "The Clave is always right." Jace's eyebrows perked up.

"Well, why can't the warlock take him?" Jace asked. Alec sat boltright in his chair, and the side of Magnus' face twitched.

"Because it's not his job to take care of us!" Alec said. "Don't you dare bring Magnus into this!" There was a sign of admiration in Magnus' eyes when Alec defended him, but Magnus still didn't say anything.

"We don't even have enough rooms," Jace exasperated. "Most of the beds have been taken away in order to give them to the Toronto Institute. Simon took the last one." Izzy glanced at Simon.

"They can have my room," Izzy said. "Jules and Emma, I mean. They're parabatais, right?" Alec looked at her harshly.

"Where will you sleep?" Alec asked. She looked at him like he was ludicrous.

"Simon's. Where else?" Izzy asked. Alec exhaled loudly.

"What about him!" Jace yelled, pointing at him harshly. "Aren't you guys missing something?! Where will he go?" They all glanced at each other awkwardly.

"Maybe he can share a room with Izzy and Simon," Alec sneered. "Since she likes getting cozy." Izzy's lips curled.

"Would you stop being a-"

"Well, well," Magnus said, clasping his hands together. "And now I see why the shadowhunters always do so well at making decisions." Jace's eyes narrowed at him coldly.

"Do you even care at all, Warlock?" Jace asked. Magnus rolled his eyes.

"Sure I do. About ten percent," Magnus said matter-of-factly. "But I've lived long enough to conclude that shadowhunters will probably be the ones to destroy themselves so I have difficulty giving shadowhunters the other ninety perfect." Jace sat up from his chair, his fingers digging into the table as he tossed his head over towards Magnus.

"You know what, Warlock-"

"His name is Magnus Bane," Jonathon interrupted. Everybody stopped, even Jace. Jonathon could tell by the conversation that they had forgotten he was even in front of them. Magnus' eyebrows perked up.

"What?" Magnus asked.

"Magnus Bane," Jonathon repeated, swallowing. "That's your name right? Not_ Warlock_. Magnus Bane." Magnus blinked, than stood up straighter in the chair proudly, lifting his chin, and finally letting his unlimited pride show.

"Yes, that's me," Magnus confirmed. Jonathon nodded at him respectively.

"You know," Clary interrupted. "I vote we should keep him. I think he's changed, Jace. I truly believe that Sebastian is gone. I...see it." Jonathon smiled at her appreciatively, but then she glanced away. Jace shook his head quickly.

"I've seen his mind," Jace spat. "That demon may have physically left, but there's no way his mind is completely there, Clary. Please."

"He's my brother," Clary reminded him. "Really, if you guys don't think _he's _a shadowhunter because of his past, you mightaswell say I'm not a shadowhunter too because I lived as a mundane for years. And look at Simon - he was a vampire the last time we all saw Sebastian together!" Everybody glanced around.

"He can stay in my room since I tend to spend the night at my mom and dad's anyways," Clary concluded. "Emma and Julian, you can stay in Isabelle's room. Just...give him a chance, guys."

It was awkward being escorted up the stairs. Despite the fact that the sun was just going down, shooting warm rays into the high ceiling windows, Jonathon was eager to go to his room. He felt trapped when he was around them. But before he left, filing down behind the other shadowhunters, Magnus stopped him in the hall.

"Why did you defend me?" Magnus let out bluntly as he leaned against the doorway. Jonathon blinked.

"What do you mean?" Jonathon asked. Magnus' cat-like eyes narrowed on him.

"You defended me when Jace called me a warlock. Why?" Magnus demanded. Jonathon shrugged.

"I guess I just don't believe in dehumanization," Jonathon said. "You aren't just a warlock, you're a person. Just like I'm not a replica of my past." Magnus nodded slowly. Jonathon was about to walk away, but he knew there was something left on Magnus' mind.

"They're wrong, you know," Magnus mumbled as his eyes analyzed him, almost like Jonathon analyzed other people. "There is something different about you. Not just your eyes." Despite the fact that Jonathon's mouth was open, he didn't know what to say. Thank you? I agree? You're right? There was no words. He nodded at him curtly, and caught up to the shadowhunters in front of them_. For a bunch of people who cared so much about his existence_, Jonathon thought, _they didn't really feel like waiting for me._

"Why can't he sleep in the library or something?" He heard Jace mutter to Clary. "Does he have to take your room?" Clary gave Jace a smile.

"It's too late, Jace," Clary told him. "He's staying." Jace let out an exhale of disgust. He continued to argue, until he let out a sarcastic joke that made Clary laugh. Jonathon watched as Clary clung onto Jace's arm, giggling. A shiver ran down his spine, thinking that once he had confused sibling love with romantic love. One day, he will get her to love him. But not like that. Never like that.

"It's going to be fine," he heard Izzy say to Jules and Emma. "Here's my room. You guys may have to share the-"

"That's fine," Emma replied sharply. Jules followed her. Izzy shot them a queer look.

"Well, if you look deep in the closet, you'll find some of my old clothes from when I was younger," she told Emma, and then looked at Jules. "Julian, I'll get some old clothes from my brothers." _Brothers. Jace was counted as a brother. _As her words echoed in his head, he saw Clary look back at him. But when his eyes met hers, she turned away sharply. His lips formed into a straight line.

"Here," she said, stopping only a few doors later. "This is mine." As he passed Jace, who leaned against the doorway, he saw Jace sneer, but he ignored him. A scent of vanilla mixed with thick cologne collided with him as soon as he stepped into the room. The walls were plain, for the most part, except for a few sketches on runes that were taped onto the walls. Her room though was a disaster. There were papers everywhere, mixed within clothes. The shelves were clogged with different boxes and picture frames. She rushed towards her bed, unmade and with the comforter touching the ground, and took the notebook and pencils off.

"It's a mess," she said, as she turned towards the closet and opened the doors roughly. "But it's still a room. Sometimes Jace will stay in here when I'm gone, so there's some of his clothes there." Jace looked like he was going to argue, but when she gave him a cold look he stopped.

"Don't stain them," Jace said, eyeing the coffee stain on his shirt. But Jonathon didn't bother explaining to him that the coffee stain wasn't his fault. Instead, he walked around the room, looking at everything in amazement. His fingers dripped along the different trinkets and shelves. When he passed to a picture of his mother, he froze. She was beautiful, he thought. Her arms though were tossed around another man, hugging him tightly. Clary stopped moving.

"Hey, Jace," she said. "Can you leave for a moment?"

"What? You give this _thing _a room and now I'm being kicked-" but she shut the door in his face coolly. She then walked carefully to Jonathon, approaching him as if he was an animal.

"That's my mom," she said.

"Our mom," Jonathon corrected. "Even if she doesn't want to see me, she's still my mom." Clary didn't say anything at first.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I guess she is." Jonathon touched the jewelry box next to it. Slowly, he opened the box. Inside were different tangled necklaces, earings, and bracelets. But at the top was a ring. He picked it up. It was a gold band, with a clear and sparkly gem on top. Diamond.

"Oh," Clary said. "That's-"

"Is it yours?" Jonathon asked. "Your and Jace's? A wedding ring?" Her cheeks turned to a beat red, and she inched back.

"Oh, no, no, no," she said. "I mean, maybe one day. But that's not mine. Well, it is, just not my wedding." His eyebrows scrunched down.

"Whose is it?" He asked. "If you don't mind me asking." Her fingers wrung around her wrist.

"Jocelyn's," she said. Immediately, he looked down at the ring, touching it more carefully. _His mom's ring._

"It was a ring your - _our _dad gave her. She never really wore it, it was mostly just the fact that she liked the mundane ritual of exchanging rings. I don't know why she kept it, but she did. And so she gave it to me shortly after getting married to Luke. I tried giving it to Jace, but he wanted nothing to do with it," Clary rambled fast. When Jonathon tore his eyes away from the ring and looked back at Clary, her eyes were on the ground. At first he thought she was uncomfortable, but when he looked harder he realized she was embarrassed.

"If you don't count him as your father," Jonathon pondered. "Then why did you keep it? Why didn't you just sell it off? Jocelyn obviously didn't care." Her green eyes looked up at him again.

"She told me once when talking about their marriage that she was happy for a while," Clary told him. "In the beginning of the marriage, at least. I guess I just...I don't want to forget about that. I feel like if the ring disappears, then that memory will always be gone. There was a time that a real family existed between all of us. That we actually had a chance. Not that I don't appreciate the family I have, but I think it's worth keeping, that's all." She turned away, about to step out of the room, until Jonathon stopped her.

"And is that something you want?" Jonathon asked softly. "A family, I mean? With me? As siblings?" At first she didn't move, but then she turned to look at him.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It wasn't really a life I ever thought was possible." Jonathon nodded.

"Well, can I at least keep the ring? I mean, since you said you didn't really want it," Jonathon said. She gave him a small smile.

"Sure," she said, and then turned out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Jonathon immediately hit the bed, taking a deep breath. If he was going to stay here, it was going to be a long trip.

Loving the feedback! Yes, the characters are a little different because it's an alternate universe and they have all been affected by that war.

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	4. Chapter Three

Warmth filled the small, colorful kitchen. Jonathon was sitting at a crammed round table. In front of him, a plate of eggs and bacon was calling his name. He felt a burst of happiness spread within him as he started to dig into the eggs and bacon. He glanced outside the small window between two cabinets, looking past the green lawn and white picket fence to see the many houses around them. The houses weren't huge like the mansions he was raised in, but yet suburban homes that a family could live in together. He heard the birds singing and kids playing outside.

"How was your morning, Jonathon?" A voice behind him asked. He looked backwards at the woman behind him. She wasn't facing him, but she was hovering over the sink, rinsing off plates and inserting them into the dishwasher. She wore a conservative plain dress, with a stained apron pulled over. As Jonathon momentarily evaluated her, his eyes glanced around as well.

Around the sink, a small frame was over there. He was in the picture, of course, with the rest of his family. His mother, with her straight brown hair, was next to his father. His father looked nice, he thought, with a plain button down shirt and tie, and pale pants. His hair, blonde like Jonathon's, was vibrant in the sun. In front of his mother, Clary, with her red curly hair, stood next to Jonathon happily, her cheeks red with glee. They were happy. He didn't remember taking the picture, but something inside him told him it was a happy day.

"Good," he replied. "Where's Clary?"

"She'll be here in a minute, dear," she told him stiffly. He stared harder. His mother's hair was brown and pulled up in a bun tightly.

"Where's father?" He asked, his voice growing wary. "Shouldn't he be here as well?"

"He'll be here soon, dear," she reassured. He stopped eating, putting his fork down.

"Mom," he said curiously, tilting his head. "When did you change your hair to brown? And straighten it?" She stopped washing the dishes.

"It's all been that way, dear," she told him, her voice monotone. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes wandering the kitchen. As he looked around, he became more lucid. Where was he? What was this? He wasn't supposed to be here.

"Mom, I've never been here before," he said aloud. "Mom, I don't live in this house. I didn't-"

"You live here, dear. You're my son, it's my job to take care of you," she told him. Suddenly, he was on his feet. _No, _he thought, _something is wrong here. _

"Mom," he said, again. "Turn around and look at me."

"I'm doing the dishes, dear."

"Look at me!" he demanded. Suddenly, the woman in front of him, turned, and sucked in a breath.

"You're not my mother," he said. It was _Lilith_. A dark energy radiated off her. If she appeared as her true appearance, it would be better, but now she was dressed in mother-attire with a motherly appearance. He cornered himself against the table.

"What are you doing here?" His voice cracked. "Where am I?" His memory started to come back to him. This wasn't his home, he didn't know this place.

"I am your mother, Jonathon," she said, her voice monotone. "It's my job to protect you." Suddenly, Jonathon grabbed the knife off the table, though it was pointless.

"I want my real mother," Jonathon demanded. "You're not my mother. Jocelyn Morgenstern is." The woman's lips curled back angrily.

"YOU WILL NOT USE HER NAME IN MY HOUSE!" She yelled. He stepped forward.

"Where am I? Take me back!" He yelled. A second later, the knife was out of hand, flung so hard back that it spun towards the wall and the pointed part was shoved inside the wall. He exhaled shakily. At first he thought she was going to strike him, but she stood where she was, back to her calm demeanor.

"I am not the Jonathon you once knew," he told her. "Go away." She tilted her head sympathetically.

"I will always be your mother, Jonathon," she said, abnormally calm. "I will never leave you." Suddenly, hot tears were falling down his face.

"_I _leave _you_," he told her. "I am not your puzzle piece anymore, Lilith." And in an instant, everything tore away. The kitchen, the home, even Lilith. Instead, there was just pitch blackness, and her thin voice still speaking to him.

"Will this be you, pure shadowhunter? Will you leave your Mother Lilith for another mother, who will never love you?" Her voice lingered.

_ She will love me_, Jonathon promised her. _She's just afraid._

_ "_And what will a mother of fear do for you?" Lilith asked. "She can't supply the love you deserve. I will make you a family. Let me be your mother. Let me live again."

"NO!" Jonathon shouted, but this time his eyelids flew open. As he sat up on the bed, he felt cold sweat peel down his face. His lungs were inhaling and exhaling rapidly, trying to catch breath but Lilith words kept mocking him. _Let me be your mother. _He didn't want her as a mother. He was good now, he was good.

As he sat up in his bed, cold sweat peeling down his face, he coughed. He didn't remember falling asleep, but as he glanced at his dresser he saw the diamond ring staring at him. He looked at it hard for a moment but then picked it up between two fingers. Next to where the ring was, he glanced at the clock - 10:00. He sighed, the tiredness suddenly gone. What was he going to do about Lilith? He thought. She would come back to him. She always did. At least in spirit.

He got up from the bed fully, dragging himself towards the bathroom. As he stepped in, he looked inside the mirror. His face was pale as snow, like it always was after having a nightmare with Lilith. His hair, on the other hand, was still light blonde, falling down his forehead messily. He glared into his emerald green eyes.

"Get it together, Jonathon," he told himself. "Get it together." He walked out of the bathroom, about to lay back in the bed, despite no longer feeling sleepy, until he heard a bang hit the door. His head jerked towards the door instantly.

"Morgenstern, Open up!" A voice demanded, as a fist pounded on the door. Jonathon walked towards the door, shoving the diamond ring in his pocket hastily. Slowly, and cautiously, he opened the door.

He wasn't necessarily surprised to see Jace on the other side, but he did feel exhausted every time he ran into him. He knew one day he'd create peace between him and the rest of the shadowhunters, but Jace? He could never fathom any way that would make Jace forgive him.

"Do you address my sister like that too?" Jonathon asked, an edge in his voice. Jace's eyebrows elevated.

"Oh, I call her a lot of names," Jace said. "But Morgenstern isn't one of them. She does like to say my name a lot in certain situations, if you know what I mean." Jonathon nodded calmly, dismissing the sexual innuendo.

"I see you still have your infamous defense mechanism," Jonathon observed. "I thought maybe you'd run out of witty insults." Jace snorted.

"Please, don't test me, _Sebastian_. You pretend with your new little casual vocabulary and direct approach mechanism, but I know you. I know you like the back of my hand, and you can't change. Even if Glorious hits you and you survive, nothing can release the demon inside you," Jace hissed. Jonathon's fingers dug into the wall that he was clinging to.

"Clary believes me," Jonathon told him. "She wants a brother, and now I can finally be that."

Jace laughed under his breath manically, his gold hair whipping his own face as he shook his head.

"Clary told me about how you stalk her in the morning," Jace said hotly. "Just like all of us, she wants nothing to do with you. She's letting you in for those two kids from Los Angeles." Jonathon's jaw clenched.

"Well, I have the rest of my life to prove it to her, then," Jonathon said. Jace's eyes narrowed.

"Not if I'm here," Jace countered.

"Then go on," Jonathon said, abnormally cold and direct, "Kill me. I won't stop you this time. Go ahead." Jace's eyes flashed, but not in fear. It was almost like Jonathon's cold reaction, rather than a manically taunting tone that Sebastian always had, was a slap to Jace's face. A persona that Jace didn't exactly know how to respond to.

"You're not meant to be here, Sebastian," Jace spat cruelly. "Leave." At first, Jonathon was silent.

"My name," Jonathon said slowly, "is Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern. Until you can say it, your words are nothing to me, Herondale." And with that, he slammed the door in Jace's face.

(three dashes here)

Jonathon wished he could say that he had slept soundly that night, but he found himself staring at the ceiling for hours until he couldn't stand it anymore - he had to move. Early in the morning, he decided to make breakfast. He realized, through the last few months, making breakfast was relaxing. He had nearly three times the number of food prepared when he heard a pair of feet walk into the kitchen.

"Isabelle," a voice said. "Is that you? Are you cooking? It smells-" But when Simon say him, dressed in star wars pajama pants, he froze. There was a stiff silence between them for a long period. At first Simon stared at him warily. Jonathon was certain that he was contemplating on whether he should leave.

"I made breakfast," Jonathon said softly. "If you want some. I made eggs, toast, pancakes, waffles, french toast, omeletes, oatmeal, hashbrow-"

"Jesus Christ," Simon swore, his eyes following the line of trays that lined up along the dinner table. "I mean, do you mind if I have some?"

"Go for it," Jonathon insisted. Without hesitating anymore, Simon grabbed an empty plate and started filling it up as fast as possible. Jonathon watched in a corner as he continued to make food on a hot plate, Simon look in awe at the line of food.

"How did you make this?" Simon asked. "I swear, I emptied the entire pantry yesterday so that Isabelle wouldn't make anything." Suddenly, an urgent fear hung in his eyes, more vibrant then when he saw Jonathon. "Don't tell Isabelle I did that." Jonathon shared a small smile.

"I won't," Jonathon promised. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I went to the nearest 24-hour grocery store and bought some food." Simon stopped down the line, lifting a biscuit to his tray.

"How'd you pay for it?" Simon asked, scowling. "Don't tell me-" Jonathon interrupted with a laugh.

"I have a job," Jonathon said. "Well, I _did_ at least. I don't plan on going back." Simon's eyebrows rose when Jonathon said this, finally taking a seat in front of the tray of bacon.

"You truly do plan on staying here," Simon said aloud. Jonathon nodded.

"I'm not giving up," Jonathon told him. "I'm going to remake my life, whether Jace wants me to or not."

"Jace doesn't like much, I'll tell you that," Simon said, pointing at him with a fork. "I've been Clary's best friend for...well, forever, and he still doesn't like me." Jonathon's smile faltered.

"Forever?" Jonathon asked, his eyebrows rising. "That's...that's a long time." Simon shrugged.

"Not literally," Simon reminded him. "But apparently she has some strong memories of us from way back."

"All of my memories seem to be blurred," Jonathon admitted sadly. "Of course, they're still there, but I do have issues referring to simple things." Simon nodded, suddenly intrigued as he stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth. Jonathon moved away from the hot plate and towards the cutting board where he began to cut some fruit.

"So then," Simon managed to say flawlessly as he chewed, "How do you remember your name and how to speak and how to move?" Jonathon on how to explain it, until he lifted the knife higher in the air.

"I know core things, like what knives are and how to speak the many languages that I'm fluent in," Jonathon explained. "But I don't know the preferred things, like the first time I rode a bike, or the first time I met Clary, because all of the memories are so tangled and distorted. It would be like trying to remember a memory you had witnessed when you were only three. I don't know how accurate they really are so I don't rely on them." Simon was silent for a moment. It was then when Jonathon remembered that he was the reason Simon's memory was taken away. But there was no resentment in them, and instead a hint of sympathy.

"You say _many _languages," Simon decided to say. "How many exactly?"

"Countless," Jonathon exaggerated. "Too many for my liking. I'm sure, if I were to reorganize my memories, I'd be capable of whining to you about all the times I cursed the existence of language simply because my father forced me to learn it every single day." Simon laughed, despite the hint of forcedness in his tone.

"You know," Simon said, sitting back into his chair. "I don't think you're half bad. I mean, you're kinda creepy and you take the whole 'everybody hates me' abnormally well, but you're not that half bad."

"Leave it to the day lighter to befriend a demon," a voice drawled. Jonathon heard Simon groan as they both turned their head towards the entrance. Jace, wearing leather pants and an unbuttoned button down shirt, walked in slowly. His gold eyes swept the table. Jonathon thought he would turn away, but then Jace's thin fingers chose one of the small apples in one of the fruit bowls. Jace proceeded to fall into a chair, crossing his legs over the table. A thrust of anger hit Simon's face as he took the eggs that Jace's feet were hovering over.

"I am not a demon," Jonathon countered. "More like a person who previously hosted a child of Lilith. There is a difference." Jace's sent a harsh look at Jonathon. Jonathon didn't look away.

"I feel the tension," Simon commented. Slowly, Jonathon looked away.

"It's the same to me," Jace murmured, his eyes still on Jonathon coolly.

"Agree to disagree, brother," Jonathon said stiffly.

"I don't think that idea exists for Jace," a voice interrupted. Everybody turned their head to see Alec Lightwood. Jonathon evaluated him, for the first time wondering if Alec Lightwood had changed since the battle. He walked with a different beat, he exchanged eye contact differently. More confident, stronger, not afraid to do the wrong thing. But Jace rolled his eyes.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Jace sneered, though there was a light tone beyond his words. "Did he get mad over our conversation yesterday?" Alec scuffed, grabbing a plate and without hesitation, picking out food.

"He does have an actual life you know," Alec said. "Talking about having lives, where's Isabelle? Isn't she usually on her daily schedule by now?" Simon stopped chewing when Alec, probably instinctively, glanced at him. Simon shrugged.

"She was gone when I woke up," Simon admitted. "I thought she was down here." Alec rolled his eyes.

"She's probably sitting with the children," Alec dismissed. But Jonathon's lips pursed. He hadn't heard her all morning, as he came to think of it.

"No," Jonathon said. "I don't think so." Jace rolled his eyes, as others glanced around worriedly.

"Ignore him. He's delirious," Jace snapped, but nobody went back to their food.

"And," Jonathon added, "I have no idea where those kids are. I haven't heard them all morning." To Jonathon's surprise, it was Simon who got up from his chair first. Despite the fact that he still had the balance of a mundane, and probably still had absolutely no skill as a shadowhunter, a blaze filled his eyes.

"I'm coming with you," Alec agreed. Jace rolled his eyes.

"Can't I at least finish my-" But then a scream interrupted his words. The apple fell from his hands, hitting the ground with a thump. At first everybody was very still, as if trying to figure out where the noise had come from.

"Upstairs," Jonathon said aloud, suddenly racing towards the staircase. On his heels, he felt Jace run, with Alec and Simon falling behind. For a second, he felt as if it was a race. But, despite the fact he no longer possessed a demon and had weaknesses, he was still the best shadowhunter alive. To be honest, it was no race.

Jonathon stopped at the door he had last seen Izzy. His hand froze at the door and he looked back at the people around him, who were all at least five meters away from him. Within a second though, Jace was next to him, panting slightly.

"Well, are you going to open it?" He snarled. Jonathon backed up, his palms in the air.

"Not my sister," Jonathon said. Jace didn't bother giving him any more attention; instead, he opened the door.

It was Clary laying on the ground. There were spots of blood around her, and she cuddled up against Izzy's bed. Jace's eyes widened, his body still as stone for a second too long. There were gasps behind him, but Jonathon stutter. He jumped towards Clary and landed on his knees. She was only an inch away from him.

"Clary," he said slowly. "Clary, are you-"  
"Her eyes are open," Jace analyzed as he stopped at her opposite side. "And she's breathing." Jonathon wanted to do something - anything, but he couldn't think.

"What happened?" Izzy asked from behind them. She was clearly addressing Alec.

"I...I..."  
"I think the brother knows," a voice interrupted. Jonathon looked up to see Magnus Bane lingering behind them all, not necessarily in worry but in curiousness. Slowly everybody looked at him.  
"Did you do this?" Jace said through his gritted teeth. Jonathon shook his head quickly.

"No, no!" He said to them all, his eyes falling to all of them. "I would never-" But then Jace's hands reached for Jonathon's neck. His thin fingers wrapped around his throat tightly and Jonathon could feel his airways tighten.

"Did you do this?" Jace said again, tighter. Jonathon started to choke.

"N-No," he let out. "Bu-But the child..children are..."

"Let go of him!" Magnus said, his voice more exhausted than irritated. "Jeeze, I didn't mean that he actually_ did_ it." But Jace's gold eyes were flaming with anger. He couldn't tell if Jace was using this as an excuse to kill him.

"Where's Clary? I knew you were a monster! I told her! Now you better tell me before I-"

"JACE!" Alec barked. Finally, to Jonathon's great surprise, Jace ripped away. Jonathon coughed harshly, slowly grasping air.

"What do you know?" Simon asked, walking towards him. He was the only person, including Magnus Bane, who a hundred percent believed it wasn't his fault. But there was desperateness in his eyes. Desperateness that Jonathon didn't want to see.

"The windows open," Jonathon said, pointing towards the window. "I'm guessing a faerie was here to kidnap the children. Maybe..." Jace was still glaring at him.

"The faerie took the children and when Clary came here, she heard the screams but when she opened the door-"  
"Are you insisting that a faerie did this?" Alec said slowly. "You do understand that the faerie fear us, right? The Seelie Queen would never allow this. They are not in a good spot right now."  
"Maybe not the Seelie Queen," Jonathon agreed, "But didn't the children have a family member who got taken by the _Un_seelie Court? Unfortunately, I know a lot about the Unseelie Court. When they are desperate for a shadowhunter's attention, they may do horrible things." While Alec was looking at him skeptically, Jace raced to the window, looking down. He gasped.

Quickly, Jonathon looked out too, followed by the rest of the group. He exhaled. There was a small patch of grass, almost like a backyard behind the Institute. Jonathon almost didn't see it, but in the far middle of the grass, he saw a thin person. Not a person, he corrected, a faerie.

"It's a faerie," Jonathon said aloud. "He's waiting to negotiate." Quickly, he ran out of the room, going down the stairs so fast that he barely felt the floor under him. He heard a crowd of footsteps echo behind him.

Though he wasn't familiar with the Institute as much as he wished he was, he found the back door instantly. He opened it and rushed out. When his green eyes met the boy in the middle of the yard, he exhaled. He had forgotten how beautiful the faeries were. He had distanced himself from them so much because he feared he would be sucked back into their world, but he forgot how charming they were. How abnormally _perfect. _He strutted towards the faerie about the same exact time as Jace met up with him.

"You," he heard Jace sputter. "You look just like Meliorn. You-"  
"Their charm is magnificent, you should know that, Jace," Jonathon snapped. "Sometimes they can make you see what you want to see." But Jace's hands were already at the faerie's collar, shaking him. The faerie didn't show any care as Jace shook him viciously.

"Jace Herondale," the faerie said, his eyebrows rising. "I'd suggest you let me go." Jace's eyes blazed.

"What do you mean?" Jace asked. "What did you do to Clary? Where are the children? What-"

"Jonathon Morgenstern," the faerie addressed, and Jonathon's face flushed, "the Unseelie Court is intrigued by you." Jonathon blinked. As soon as the faerie said his name, and everybody's eyes glared at him, he felt like he shrunk three times his size.

"I'm not a faerie so I'm not sure why you guys are so intrigued," Jonathon answered coolly. "Now, what did you do to Clary? Did you give her a potion? Did you hit one of her chakras? Did you-" His words stopped when he saw the faerie give him a smile. A cruel smile. Jonathon's words stopped.

"I have a cure," the faerie said, winking. "But you must promise me something." Jonathon's fingers curled into a fist.

"Sorry, but I don't make negotiations," he said, giving a mirthless smirk, "Surely, you know that." The faerie's smile dropped.

"Ah, but I have the children," the faerie said. "And you'll never find them." Jace huffed.

"The clave will-"

"The Clave already knows about the children's disappearance," the faerie said. "They think they are traitors." Jace scowled.

"They are not traitors," Jace said. "They're a couple of kids who ran away because they were..." But none of them knew why they run away. As Jace's voice disappeared, Izzy stepped forward, knocking into Jonathon so violently that he lost his balance.

"Give us the cure now," Izzy said, "and the children. Or you will see how fast shadowhunters can burn down the entire world." It was pitiful words, Jonathon thought, but her tone was so strong that Jonathon almost believed it. The faerie blinked.

"Fine," he said. "Mark Blackthorn, appear!" At a distance, they heard a noise that sounded like a firecracker. In unision, they all turned.

At the corner of the small yard, a body was laying there. It was gurgling, and as Jonathon squinted at the body, it seemed familiar. Not necessarily someone he interacted with - he knew that immediately - but someone he had once seen.

"Mark," Alec breathed.

"Oh, was that the pretty mixed boy?" Magnus Bane blurted. But everybody, except for Jace and Jonathon, were running towards him. Jonathon saw the goo around him, with a distinct odor that made him want to puke and attracted him at the same time. Faerie blood.

When he turned back to the Faerie, a hole only a few feet away, was beginning to grow.

"No!" Jonathon screamed. "He's leaving!" Jace somersaulted in the air, but Jonathon noticed the small trail of goo that the faerie had spread around him. Jonathon didn't know what it was, but it didn't seem good.

"Jace," Jonathon said warningly. "Don't touch the goo!" But it was no problem for Jace. Jace jumped over it, grabbing the faerie before it could jump into the all, and landed far from the other side.

"Give us the cure!" Jace said, as he landed ontop of him. "Give us the cure or I'll kill you!" The faerie coughed.

"The cure? Oh dear, I must have forgot it," the faerie said sarcastically. "Anyways, I think the children are more important. You might-as-well ask the half-breed how to get them. He knows them well." Jace's eyes flashed. Jonathon noticed how the faerie was slowly slipping out of Jace's grip.

"Don't kill him!" Jonathon warned. "It'll be much worse!" Jace nibbled on his lip, starring at the faerie curiously.

"I think you're lying," Jace said to the faerie. "I think you know how to fix her. What did you do? Paralyze her?" The faerie slipped away as Jace was too distracted on his own words. Jace grabbed it again, but only by its legs.

"Jace! Don't let it-" But it was too late. The faerie grabbed Jace's arms and sunk it's teeth into his forearm. Jace shrieked, swinging the faerie.

"You little pest!" Jace growled, before flicking it into the black hole. "You can tell your Queen that this isn't over." As soon as the faerie was far from sight, Jonathon rushed towards him.

"Quick, give me a seraph!" Jonathon demanded. "The effects of a faerie isn't something you want people to witness." But then, as Jonathon grew closer to him, he forgot about the weird mixture the faerie had spilled. Suddenly, he was in the air, his body tumbling against the dead grass. Jonathon tried digging his fingers into the dirt, but for some odd reason he couldn't get his body to hold onto the ground. It was like the liquid was pulling him towards the dark hole. Before he could register what was soon to happen, his body tumbled into the black hole. At first, it felt like nothing.

And then he felt the jerk. His body bounced back into the air, growing upward, until he hit the cold grass once again. He took in a deep breath and glanced beside him. Jace was near him, but his body was turned away. Jonathon noticed how Jace's knees were tugged up against his chest.

"You stopped me from falling into the hole," Jonathon exhaled. "I would have died." Jace didn't say anything, just shook his head silently.

"I...I thought you hated me," Jonathon blurted, confused yet thankful at the same time. But then he felt like there was something else - something more complicated than just _not hating_ him.

"I couldn't do it," Jace said in a low voice, his voice shaking. "I couldn't let you fall." At first Jonathon was silent, ringing his wrist.

"Why not?" He asked. "Is it because of Clary?" There was a horrible silence for a moment.

"Jace," Jonathon emphasized, his voice hard. "Why didn't you let me die?" When Jace turned around and looked at him, Jonathon shrunk back. There were tears falling down Jace's cheeks.

"You aren't supposed to be good," Jace said. "Clary is so happy that she has a brother, but all I see is someone who ruined me. Who replaced me. And it was easier hating you when you were evil. It so much easier. But now here you are, nice and dandy, right? Perfectly normal, like the brother Clary should've had. But nothing has changed for me, and now everything is coming back to the surface."

"You hate me," Jonathon mumbled, "because I was favored by our father?"

"It seems like that's the only reason I could still hate you," Jace said. "You can't be held liable for the actions you were blamed for while you were being Sebastian, but that? Being the favored son? I can't let that go. I will never be able to let that go. And I didn't even know it bothered me until you came back."

"But you still haven't answered my question," Jonathon said. "_Why did you save me?" _Jace's nostrils flared.

"Because, it's not fair anymore. You dying wouldn't be fair," Jace said. "You're different now. You've been forgiven. And even though I'd be perfectly fine with you dying, you wouldn't deserve it. So I guess you're just going to have to suffer being alive, just like me."

"Is Jace crying?" A voice interrupted in awe. Jonathon turned around, internally sighing as he saw Alec, Simon, Izzy, Magnus and the mysterious boy. They all looked, except for boy who simply looked annoyed, in revulsion. Apparently, seeing Jace cry was worse than just shocking - it was unheard of.

"He got bit by a faerie," Jonathon excused, rubbing the back of his neck. "I read in a book once that if a faerie bites you it makes you more...emotional." As if on cue, Jace sniffled. At first, Alec looked skeptical, but then he laughed. Simon snickered for a moment, but then Izzy hit him.

"I just hope he doesn't remember this," Izzy grumbled. "Or else we'll all be screwed."


End file.
